Love Is Language
by writingspaz97
Summary: Sometimes people can't always communicate the way we do.  Sometimes it takes imagination, love, and courage.  One-shot :


**Love Is Language**

**A/N: Hey! So, I haven't written in forever, I'm sorry. Honestly, I've been lazy and bleh. I'm also writing something else, but I won't post it on here, it's mainly a story for fun. That's kind of been my main priority as for writing right now. I sorry!**

**But I got this video from my friend who showed me this YouTube video called Love is Language. If you haven't seen it, go watch it! It's so inspiring and adorable! I just had to write a little one-shot for it, of course with the awesome couple of Troyella ;)**

**So, I hope you like it! I'm actually proud of how it turned out. I started it yesterday and I finished it as soon as I got home from school. **

**Review please!:)**

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><p><strong>July 3, 2011<strong>

**9:30 AM**

Mom got me a diary. She said that since I can't express myself verbally, I can write down my thoughts and feelings. I think my psychiatrist is the one who recommended this. I hate it. I have enough to deal with, and writing daily in a journal is not on my "Things to Do List." What am I supposed to write anyways? Usually you hear about young teenage girls writing in a diary, expressing their love for their current boyfriend. But I don't have a boyfriend, nor do I think I will ever have one. I guess I'll just write about my boring days.

It's Saturday. Usually my dad takes me somewhere. We were supposed to go to an art museum today. I love art. But he got called in for an emergency or something like that at work, so I'm stuck at home. I think I'll go to the park later on today. Maybe bring this dumb diary along and write about the people I see. The people whose lives are much better than mine.

Until later, I guess.

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><p><strong>Same day<strong>

**I don't know the time; I should really start carrying a watch. **

Mom finally let me out of the house after helping her clean the house. My hands literally feel like prunes from the stacks of dishes I had to wash. But, alas, I'm at the park. Sigh, I talk so old-fashioned… I need a life, diary. See, now I'm talking to a diary as if you're my friend. The thing is though; you are the only thing I have right now that I can talk to. Everyone else just pities me.

I see kids playing on the playground, mothers chatting, fathers swinging their sons on swings. I feel like such a loner.

Oh, no. Some guy is coming up to the bench I'm sitting on. He's holding a blue spiral notebook. Hey, he's pretty cute. He just smiled at me. He has blue eyes. I'm a sucker for colored eyes.

Oh, shoot, why? He's sitting next to me now. I can feel his eyes on me. Don't look, Gabriella. Oh, crap, I looked. And he was staring back at me. He has this mole on the right side of his face, but instead of it bothering me, it's kind of adorable. Ew, what am I saying? His hair is spiked up, too. I like it that way. Diary, you're making me write down what I'm thinking, and right now, I'm thinking nonsense. Don't listen to me.

He's talking to me. I can see his lips moving. I can't hear him. I can't hear anything. That's when I point to my ears and showed the iPod earplugs I constantly keep in. It's kind of my way to not look…. Too out of place, I guess. Not that I would stand out or anything, but I don't know… It's kind of comforting.

He frowned and nodded, looking back to his notebook. I'm curious as to what he's reading about. Is he studying maybe? I don't know.

I need to go. It's too awkward.

Later, my only friend.

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><p><strong>July 4<strong>

**12:05**

I feel stupid.

I currently have about five flower petals on the floor now since I'm doing that stupid, stupid, girly thing where you tear the petals off and say something like "He Loves Me, He Loves Me Not." Except this time, I'm thinking "He'll be at the park; He won't be at the park." I was thinking about the guy yesterday. I think my mom suspected something since she kept asking (well, she did sign language) what was wrong. When she asked if it was a boy, my face got all hot. Surely I was blushing.

That's so embarrassing. My mom came and told me to go to the park. That I won't regret it. She had a broom in her hand. As I was leaving, I turned around, and saw her sweeping up my pathetic flower petals.

I see him. He's sitting on the bench, this time with a novel in his hand. It's opened, but he's not staring at the words in front of him. He's looking around the park, as if he's looking for somebody. Just do it, Gabriella.

I'm sitting next to him now. We smiled at each other in greeting. I love his smile. He smiles with his teeth, not like those cheesy guys that don't do a real smile. My stomach feels all… I don't know. What is this?

Out of the corner of my eye, I see him put something down next to me. I notice he's actually closer than yesterday. On the bench, in the space between us, is a yellow note card with writing on it.

What are you listening to?

I couldn't help the smile that just came on my lips. He's trying to talk to me! Okay calm down, Gabriella… it's only a stupid yellow note card. He just pushed the pack of note cards to me. What do I write? I don't listen to anything…

_A special song._

I must have read over that sentence at least ten times before I stuck it on his book. He's reading it. He's writing. He stuck another post-it on my diary. I wonder if he can read this… Oh, smart, Gabriella.

**Can I listen to it?**

I almost laughed out loud. This boy sure is pushy. But he's actually taking an interest in me… Maybe. I don't know.

_I'm embarrassed._

I just stuck it back on his book. He's frowning at it and now he's writing. Wow, I'm actually having a conversation with someone… Kind of.

Diary, I really need a life.

**Fine, fine, don't tell me:p but you have nothing to be embarrassed about.**

Hmm… I don't know what to say to that?

**I'm Troy. What's your name?**

Wow, Gabriella, way to go. You don't even know this guy's name.

_Gabriella. Nice to kind-of-meet-you Ethan: D_

That wasn't too bad, right? Or was the smiley face too much? Damn it, diary, I wish you can talk. I have no experience with boys. And this is too embarrassing to go ask my mom. Sigh… I'll just have to rely on what I've seen in movies and books.

Wait, he's not going to do that whole cheesy yawn move, right?

Well… Maybe I should talk to my mom…

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><p><strong>Same day<br>**

**5 PM**

Well, I never finished writing at the park. But I have a good reason! Troy and I talked through the post-its for two straight hours. We talked about movies, and music, and books, and he's really cool. He's seventeen, same age as me, and he's new here. He used to live in Chicago. That's why I don't recognize him.

I actually kept all of his post-its. Reading back now, my responses were really lame.

He asked for my number. I don't have a cell phone, because, well… I wouldn't be able to use it anyways. I just told him that I didn't have a phone. That's normal, right? Teenagers not having cell phones?

I should have said I lost it, or something not lame-ish.

He asked me to meet him back at the same place tomorrow. Hopefully tomorrow I won't be so… what's the word... Awkward?

God dammit, I am awkward.

Till tomorrow, diary. You didn't think I wasn't going to take you, right? You've actually become one of my friends.

XOXO.

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><p><strong>July 5<strong>

**1:05**

He's not here.

I came later than usual, and I was expecting to see him waiting here for me like yesterday, but I'm here on the bench, all by myself. Well, of course you're with me, diary, but sadly, you're not an actual person.

Did he think I was so weird that he decided not to show up?

Mom always warned me not to get too attached to someone, especially with my condition. She told me that I'm too naïve and gullible.

Am I, diary?

Oh, shoot, he just came. We're sitting really close, too. Like, shoulders touching and everything. I probably shouldn't be writing since I'm sure he can read over my shoulder now.

_You're late! XD_

Hehe, I love writing the emoticons. I've never texted before, so it's like with this way of talking, I can totally write them.

Oh shit, that's lame, isn't it?

Sigh.

**I'm sorry! I had to take my little brother to day care. I ran here though, if that helps anything**

He ran here? He wanted to see me? Breathe… Remember to breathe, Gabriella.

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><p><strong>Same day<strong>

**3:15 PM**

Sorry, Troy and I were talking… or writing… or whatever. But I just had this crazy idea in my head that I need to write down. I kind of want to tell him about… myself.

Everything.

Should I?

Should I not?

Where's a flower petal when you need one?

Well, actually, they're all over the place, but I think he'd be even more weirded out by me if I just randomly got up and got a flower, just to tear off the flower petals. He might be some gardening freak. Or one of those "SAVE THE EARTH!" people.

Did I really just write that?

_Do you want to listen to my song?_

No going back now. I just stuck it on his book. He's reading it. He's now smiling. He's writing. No going back now, Gabriella. What if he thinks I'm some sort of freak? Or what if he looks at me differently because of my condition? One thing I hate the most is pity. I hate it when people stare sympathetically at me. I hate the fact that I have to communicate through writing and sign language.

Oh, damn. I just wrote down my feelings.

Well… shhhh!

Oh snap, he just posted his reply on my diary. You know, I'm sure he can read this now. I'm too nervous to look

Okay… ready…

One…

Two…

Three…

Look!

**I'd love to.**

He doesn't know what's going to happen now.

I'm about to remove my iPod earplugs and hand it to him. He's going to put them in his ears and look at me in a weird way. I'm going to do sign language for him.

And he's going to…

Do what?

I don't know.

One way to found out.

Wish me luck!

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><p><strong>Same day<strong>

**5:15 PM**

*flashback* (yes, I'm going to write what went down)

Me: *gives earplugs to Troy*

Troy: *puts earplugs into his ears… frowns and takes them out of his ears, staring at them questionably… He begins talking…*

Me: *sign language*

Troy: …. :O!

^^ And yeah, want to know what he sent me after that!

**You're still beautiful.**

He thinks I'm beautiful! He doesn't think of me differently! He didn't even question me about it! He took me home. He met my mom. My mom was so embarrassing. She literally hugged him about ten times, and I'm pretty sure, just by reading her lips, she thanked him. For what, I don't know, and I'm kind of scared to know.

He told me he was going to come over tomorrow and we can do whatever I wanted.

Excuse me, diary…

I have to go scream.

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><p><strong>May 5, 2012<strong>

**2:30 PM**

I haven't written in this thing in forever it seems. Almost an entire year.

But the thing is… I felt like I didn't need to. I feel better now. Not depressed. Because I now have friends. Troy and I have been dating for ten months now. We're both going to the same college together in the fall.

Btw, we're going to Berkeley. We kind of wanted to stay close to home.

Troy introduced me to all these people that are actually my friends now, too. We have this whole group thing going on.

He's helped me a lot. He brought me out of my shell. He's taught me many things, just like I've taught him things, too. I taught him sign language. We still prefer communicating with our usual post-its.

He took me to Prom this year. I've never been to a dance. It was fun getting my hair done and go shopping for a dress and taking pictures and going to dinner with friends. The whole thing was a wonderful experience.

I hardly see my psychiatrist now.

Troy convinced me to volunteer at a Special Cause Organization. It's basically for people who have illnesses like me. Everyone tells their story. I'm going to tell my story tomorrow afternoon. I still need to think of a slogan. Something inspiring and something that's helped me get through.

I'll write how it goes tomorrow.

It was nice talking to you, diary, I've really missed you.

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><p><strong>May 6<strong>

**6:30 PM**

I said my story. Well, actually, Troy read aloud my story, and I stood next to him, doing it in sign language. I think it was a success. I thought of my slogan last night when I was laying in bed. It's something that helped me; something that inspires me; something that can inspire anyone going through a tough time.

It was all because of Troy that I actually felt alive once again.

My slogan was kind of based off of him.

**_Love Is Language._ **


End file.
